by Bec McMaster
If there was any memory Sir George worshipped, it was that of the moment he'd been raised into the Echelon. No longer a mere second son of a second son of some poorer House, far from the grace of the ruling duke, but a titled man himself.
They'd even named a ship after him, which seemed abundant, even to her, though now she had to wonder.
What else had he done for the prince consort?
Or had he somehow been involved with Lord Balfour? Everyone knew Balfour had pulled the prince consort's strings, so the knighthood must have been his idea.
It fit.
It fit together all too neatly.
Her father was a traitor.
As if drawn by magic, Adele crossed to the desk. She wasn't supposed to get involved, but she had to know the truth.
Sir George had never been neat, but the sheer number of papers strewn across his desk surprised her. She flicked through them methodically, trying not to disturb them too much, even as she kept one ear on the door.
There were several maps of London, with various locations clearly marked upon them in red ink.
A letter addressed to Thomas Mowbray, demanding a bill of sale for what seemed to be a household automaton. Or several hundred of them.
Schematics to some sort of device or invention she couldn't quite make heads or tails of.
But it was the small list of ingredients beneath it that caught her attention. Or to be honest, one item on the list in particular.
Nobel's Blasting Powder.
While she had little knowledge of chemistry, the term "blasting" sent a chill down her spine. That was an explosive, wasn't it? TNT?
What was her father doing with a list of explosives on his desk in what appeared to be a secret study?
"He's SOG," she whispered out loud.
He had to be.
It made too much sense.
Oh God. What was she going to do? This would ruin Hattie. She'd long since stopped caring what happened to either of her parents, for the feeling was clearly mutual, but Hattie was the one thing she'd fought to protect all her life.
Adele's head jerked up as she heard raised voices coming nearer.
Her father.
She hastily shoved everything back into place, and then examined the desk to see if it looked like someone had been in here.
Darting through the secret entrance, she put her back to the fireplace and tried to force it back into place. Inch by inch, it groaned closed. Her father's voice was louder. Damn it. Adele gave an almighty shove, and the fireplace hissed shut with a sharp click and a whuff of exhaled air.
By the time the door opened, she was seated in the same chair she'd been in when Sir George left. His gaze shot to the book she was holding, which she abruptly closed before pasting a smile on her face. "Sorry. Just had to touch something."
He'd have expected nothing less, even though sweat chilled her spine.
"Now, where were we?" Sir George snarled.
But for the life of her, Adele couldn't focus on what he was saying.
How the hell was she supposed to stay out of it now?
"Ah, Duchess. What a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect to see you here."
The words hauled Adele out of her private reverie as she scurried down the stairs leading down from her father's townhouse. Adele paused, one hand lingering on the railing, as the Earl of Devoncourt appeared in front of her.
One of Balfour's Falcons.
Adele's heart leaped into her throat.
"My family lives here," she managed to respond. "Why on earth would you be surprised to see me visiting?"
A smile softened Devoncourt's mouth, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. She'd never noticed that before. "My apologies. I thought you and your father were at odds."
Such a suggestion had never come from her mouth.
What had her father said about her?
Adele arched a brow. "You thought wrong. I won't say he was pleased to hear news of my marriage, but he's accepted it now. And I was here to visit with my sister. Not my father." When one was caught out, the best way to deflect was to attack. "Though I must say, I'm surprised to see you here. I know you and my father are friendly, but calling at home?"
Was he the messenger her father just had to see?
Had her father told him she was visiting?
Had he waited for her to emerge?
After all, she'd forced herself to sit through another ten-minute lecture on how Sir George respected Lord Corvus, and if Corvus wanted to court his daughter, then Hattie could make no truer match.
"We do some business together. Nothing of interest to you, I'm sure."
Adele bared her teeth in a smile. "Ugh. Business. How dreadfully dull. If you'll excuse me? I probably should be going. I'm going to be late. There's a new hair style my maid wishes to practice for Lady Haynes's ball."
Nothing was better designed to make gentlemen back away from a conversation than mention of gowns and toiletries.
"Surely you can spare me a moment? I wanted to speak to you about something."
"What sort of something?"
"Walk with me," he murmured, offering her arm. "And you'll find out."
Adele didn't disguise the furtive look she sent down the street. How was she to avoid this? "I don't know if that's entirely wise."
"Only to the park across the road," he replied. "Your husband can have no qualms about that, can he?"
"You don't know Malloryn very well if you think that," she replied dryly, as she accepted his arm.
"Ah, so I was right." Devoncourt's blue eyes softened as he stroked his hand over hers. "It was not by your design to give me the cut direct the other night."
What the hell could she say?
Malloryn had warned her away from Devoncourt, away from all of this, but she couldn't quite admit to Devoncourt why.
Adele let herself smile somewhat bitterly. "Apparently, while my husband might have no interest in touching me, he's quite territorial about other men venturing too close."
"Typical."
"Precisely my thought," she said.
"Did you ask your father about Malloryn's... nighttime escapades?"
"And have him throw my marriage in my face? I think not, my lord."
Devoncourt seemed to be trying to read her expression. "You should have, you know. You might have learned a thing or two about him."
"You seem awfully interested in my husband," she chided, rapping him on the arm with her fingers.
"One always studies one's opponent. And I never know when I may learn a deadly weakness to exploit."
"Are you going to fight a duel over me?"
"Perhaps. Would you like that?"
"What young woman isn't flattered by such attentions?" she replied smoothly.
Devoncourt's thumb brushed against her palm; an indecent gesture that sent a shiver through her. Despite what she might think of him, he was good at what he did.
"Would you meet with me again?"
"I am meeting with you," she pointed out.
"Privately?"
"I've told you—"
"He doesn't have to know." Devoncourt boldly tucked one of her curls behind her ear, his heated gaze darkening. "I know you spend your nights alone, cherub. All alone in that big house while your husband gads about London doing... whatever he damned well feels like doing. It's not as though he keeps track of your schedule, does he? You could slip out for the night. Tell him it's a ball."
She'd promised Malloryn she'd stay out of this, but what if she could somehow twist Devoncourt to her plans?
Malloryn had already admitted he had nothing in regards to the SOG.
"What did you have in mind?" Adele whispered, looking up into Devoncourt's cerulean eyes.
This time his smile touched every inch of his face.
Reaching inside his coat, he produced a gold-rimmed invitation embossed with a rising sun.
Her gaze locked on the logo.
"What is it for?"
"A sec
ret gathering. A masquerade, of course. There'll be music. Dancing. Little alcoves where one can steal away privately, if one has the need for it."
"A ball?" she replied cynically.
"Not a ball. It's a little more... exclusive. A little more like the old days, when blue bloods were allowed off their leashes."
"That sounds dangerous."
"Oh, it is," he purred. "But not for you. All I want to show you is another side of life. You have no liking for your husband, do you?"
"He's a cold, merciless prig," she said mechanically.
"And your marriage is barely that."
"So you keep saying."
"What if you could free yourself from such a marriage?" His voice lowered.
"The last thing I want is a divorce." Her heart started beating a little faster. Because she knew he wasn't speaking of divorce at all.
And suddenly the stakes were higher than they'd ever been.
What if someone was plotting Malloryn's murder?
Could she get Devoncourt to tell her more?
"There are other ways to end a marriage," he replied, "And as I said, Malloryn has many enemies."
Her heart skipped a beat.
It wasn't an outright confession, but when it came to someone murdering her husband, she wasn't about to take any chances.
"The only other way that I can see is widowhood." Each word came out slowly. "I'm not quite certain I'm ready for that, and all it entails. He isn't... cruel."
Devoncourt seemed to hesitate. "There are rumors he's very fond of his mistress. A love match, they say."
She didn't bother to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "He wouldn't be the first aristocrat to prefer his mistress's bed."
"Yes, but she's been saying she doesn't expect him to be at your beck and call for very much longer. She'll have him all to herself."
"What does that mean?"
Devoncourt gave her a frank look. "All he has to do is declare you mentally unfit, my dear. He owns you. And it's common knowledge the marriage didn't come about of his own volition."
Despite the fact she knew he was lying, a shiver ran down her spine. "You're saying Malloryn might lock me away?"
It was a very real fear every woman in the Echelon faced.
Her father had even threatened her with it, if she didn't apologize to Lord Corvus for slashing his face with the little knife she carried up her sleeve.
"You would be out of Malloryn's way, and he would be free to spend his nights where he willed it."
No point reminding Devoncourt that he himself had told her that her husband was already spending his nights where he wanted. He must think her an utter fool. Anger stirred, lashed to a tempest by both Malloryn's request that she forget all this nonsense, and now Devoncourt's dismissal of her intelligence.
"What should I do?" she whispered, making her eyes very big and very round.
His hand immediately softened against her cheek. "I would protect you, cherub. I promise I would love you if you let me—"
"A lot of men have made me promises. Why should yours be any different?"
Devoncourt seemed momentarily taken aback.
Sorry, it seems I haven't quite swallowed your lies completely, dearest. "You ask me to put my faith in one man when I dare not trust another? You have no claim over me. No power over him. You ask me to walk into ruin with no guarantees of my safety. How can I beat the Duke of Malloryn? How can you destroy him? He's so powerful."
"He's not completely invincible." There was a faint snarl to his voice.
"You think you can bring him down?" Adele bit her lip. "But how? He has the queen's ear."
"Come to my gathering. There are many others like me and you who are ill-satisfied with the way life currently stands. Powerful men. And women. They could help you."
"For what price?"
"We all need a little help," he murmured. "You have the perfect bargaining chip. My friends want to see Malloryn and his ilk cast down. You're in a prime position to assist them. And in return you gain your freedom."
"Widowhood?" she whispered.
A smile. Devoncourt lifted her hand to his lips. "Perhaps."
"But what would I have to do?"
"Just come," he whispered. "Meet them. See what they have to say."
"I don't know...."
"You'll be safe, I promise." He set the invitation in her hand, and curled her fingers around it. "But make sure you bring the invitation. It will grant you my protection. No blue blood will touch you if you bear my mark of protection."
There was a hard lump in her throat.
Adele responded with a saucy shrug, playing up to the image of what he expected her to be. "I'll consider it." She tucked the invitation inside her bodice, knowing she drew his gaze. "Though I won't offer any guarantees."
Devoncourt laughed, setting his thumb on the middle of her lower lip for a heated second. "That's quite all right, my dear. The fun is in the chase."
And from the look in his eyes, he thought he had her on the hook.
Chapter 15
Going to Hardcastle Lane was out of the question.
Malloryn had made it clear she wasn't to be seen there, and if Devoncourt and his allies were watching the safe house, then her cover would be blown.
So Adele sent a message, and settled into his library to wait.
Hours ticked past.
She tried to still her nerves by flicking through the books he'd piled beside his reading chair. Darwin's The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. The Origins of Bio-Mechanics by a Thomas Shelby. Sedgwick's Travels Through the Orient.
She'd expected The Prince by Machiavelli to be more his style, but as she continued perusing the pile, she realized Malloryn didn't seem to have any sort of style at all.
Beyond curiosity, it seemed.
Sharp heels rapped on the hallway floor outside, and Adele instantly set The Count of Monte Cristo back into place. She'd recognize that impatient stride anywhere and practically launched to her feet.
Where had he been?
She'd said it was urgent.
Malloryn burst through the library doors, a palm splayed against each door. He wasn't the tallest man she'd ever seen, but his mere presence seemed to swallow all the oxygen in the room. Malloryn drew everyone's eye, simply by existing.
He held her brief missive up between two fingers. "What the hell were you doing with Devoncourt?"
"Flirting," she replied. "And trying to get him to tell me everything."
"Flirting." A cold, hard word. He turned abruptly toward the brandy decanter, as if he needed a moment to gather his emotions.
"It's the only weapon available to me at times."
"I thought I told you to stay away from him. Did you not hear a word I said?" he snarled, turning on her so angrily that brandy sloshed over his sleeve.
"Quite. You were most specific about what you wanted me to do."
"Then why the hell did you disobey me? This isn't a game."
"Oh, silly me. That's precisely what I thought it was."
The swish of skirts had followed him inside the room, but it was only as a woman coughed discreetly that Adele realized he wasn't alone.
His protégé, Miss Townsend, seemed slightly amused as she took in the scene. "Why don't you let her speak, Malloryn? As much as I'm enjoying the byplay, she did say it was urgent. In my experience, your wife's not an idiot."
"Thank you." Adele tipped her head toward the voluptuous brunette, though she wasn't entirely certain what to think of the woman.
"You're welcome."
Adele turned to Malloryn. "Just in case you were interested, I didn't seek Lord Devoncourt out. I.... He was.... Goodness, I should probably start at the beginning." But how? She pressed her fingers to her temples. "It started this afternoon. I went to see my sister—"
Malloryn looked at her incredulously. "Adele, I don't have time for—"
"Can you please let me finish?"
/> He shut his mouth.
"My father wanted to see me. Something about Lord Corvus officially applying to court Hattie as a thrall, and how I wasn't to make a fuss about it. He was called away for a moment, leaving me alone in his study, and I realized there was a rising sun symbol embossed on his fireplace. Out of curiosity I examined it and the fireplace swung open, revealing a hidden study behind it."
Now she had his attention. Malloryn suddenly looked lethal as he leaned toward her. "The fireplace just happened to swing open?"
"There was a small latch. It caught my eye, and then my curiosity."
"And?"
"There's a secret study hidden behind the fireplace. I spent years in that house and I never even knew it was there," she blurted. "I didn't get much time to examine the place. I knew Father would be returning at any moment. But I saw maps of London on the desk inside, with little red crosses marked over certain places. Hardcastle Lane was one of them. The opera was another. The Ivory Tower. There were some factory schematics underneath it. More detailed drawings that appeared to design some sort of device. I'm not mechanical-minded, so I have no idea what it is. A detailed list of supplies, including large quantities of Nobel's Blasting Powder—"
"Explosives," Miss Townsend said abruptly.
"I think so. I barely had time to look at any of it. But I think... I think my father's involved in your Rising Sons. He's always hated you and was furious when I told him we were to be married. It made no sense at the time, for what father would not desire his daughter to be made a duchess? But now? After this? The only reason I can find for such intense dislike is that he's involved in the Rising Sons and he knows exactly who you are and what you do."
"And if he has maps and plans in a secret study in his house, then it's highly likely he's one of the masters behind the scheme," Miss Townsend murmured.
"Describe the study, and the fireplace," Malloryn demanded.
So Adele did.
"You're thinking this is a job for Charlie and Lark?" Miss Townsend asked, when she'd finally finished.
Malloryn paced by the window, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. "Yes. I need to know what Sir George is up to."
"There's more," Adele said. "You're not going to like it."